Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A slavey and her hubby's scullion-and merry but liberated-Ragnhild Ascwin comes to know the moral and lecture that true sexual and non-sexual bliss and enjoyment and contentment comes with being meek and compliant and yielding to whatever her overlord and principal of a man, Stian Elberd, has to decree and let know to her. So long as she is uncomplaining and lowly and accommodating and subdued, the world...yes, even the awe-striking sex itself...is all hers to delight and take joy in.

It is an immense deal of ache and hurt to be stripped nude and unclothed, just as much as it pleasing and enjoyable on either hand—in case you didn't realize it. I am undressed and stripped bare right now as I note all this down to you. My skin is this wholly and expansively nude and uncovered; my gigantic breasts and jagged, prickly-like, orbed and bumpy-like nipples are leveled up and uptight-akin-to in shape and form; my small tummy is this withered and contracted; my vagina yawns and gawps wholly wide open, trembling and quivering too just like my entire body, from the vast iciness and chilliness that is afflicting and racking me right this moment; the air and atmosphere about me is what's more piercingly frosty and freezing, and that, I cannot bear to put up with at all. Fuck me a million times for all that!

He will be here any moment from now, I am conscious. He will be here to stroke and cuddle an uncovered me ... to gobble and devour avariciously a sugary-like and naive me ... and that, I cannot run away from. He says that he is wed and slotted in—by engagement that is—to a sweet, amiable, and fine-looking me. And that—I endeavor so much not to accept it as true. Ladies and gentlemen, I am Ragnhild Ascwin ... and this is my narrative.

Never look at an undressed man, sweetie. If it was not my mother who put those pictographic words in my mind, then I truthfully don't know who articulated it. It could be I myself—or my mocking, ridiculing conscious—Isabel, I named her.

Stylishly and with just the ideal poise, Stian Elbert ambles toward me, effortlessly and with no any intricate trouble. He is naked. Semi naked. And I know and even do feel that he is about to strip himself entirely dress-less. His hair, a subterranean and concentrated shady crimson in tint and appearance, is effusively damp and drenched from the fresh shower that he has just taken. Yes. His stunning whitish lime-like skin is delightfully and startlingly soggy and sprinkly. The way that his heavy and bursting rock-hard-like muscles are arranged and shaped, they seize my breath away and leave me every inch baffled and bamboozled and insensitive and winded. I can feel lust and covetousness of him loading up my veins and blowing apart and splintering my senses to unsurpassed sugariness and syrupiness. Am I if truth be told married to this tremendously handsome guy? Am I?

As he bends down to feel and pat my chin smoothly, he gasps acutely and then gives his dazzling like-velvet black eyes whole attention to mine. I breathe in too—rapidly and hurriedly. Blood thrusts faster and more faster in my veins ... my vagina itself seems like it is opening and sealing up concurrently and all of a sudden. Damn it! He is going to fuck me real excellent and real lovable. I quiver and vibrate in unparalleled enjoyment and delight as his tongue ballets and wiggles on mine.

"Ah," I burble and falter out; and down to our oversize, sumptuous bed we plummet together, him placing his hands down further so they can pat and stroke my behind ... my buttocks in other language. I whine the more, and he sows cavernous, demonstrative, and eagerly unhurried kisses on my throat and between my breasts and even on my nipples themselves. Just as his anterior-set teeth play and fool around with the rims of my cute nipples, I tense and flex up into this one vast solid heap of ice cream and chocolate coalesced. Fuck it!

I am unable to come across my control and drive of will there and then. My hands speedily get in touch with his behind—or hindquarters—feeling the upper edging of his towel and shoving and hauling it off him. My goodness! His bums are so bulky and so filled. I can feel them throb and beat against me. Plus they are so spongy and squashy-like to finger and clinch close to me. Damn it! I fancy him to gum that phallus and John Thomas into me right now. So, so very much for your own added information.

"Draw your legs apart," he speaks softly into my ears, quietly and soothingly. "Haul them apart so I can get into you already and now, now." The insist grows louder and more shrill as he goes on with his stabled, gratifying movement against me. I am so quick and immediate to comply with him. I tear apart my legs, moaning out noisily as I do so, and for a concise minute, he glances and stares down at my vagina, seemingly blown out of his brains and logic altogether. Then, unexpectedly and hurriedly, he collapses himself over me, quietly and with awareness and care, and laying his hard, stiff and beyond doubt inflexible erection into me at that very same time so that I grunt and growl out in deep and utmost bottomless bliss. This enjoyment and gratification is indisputably going to take away my life, it probably seems. Will it?

The joystick that is in my lengthy hole seems so much of a great kick and elation that I do not want in any way possible to be snatched away from me. It generates and produces a great deal of pleasure and lovability which otherwise I could not have foreseen my body building and crafting on its own. I am in the uppermost heavens right now as I share this escapade of with you. I am so ecstatic and overjoyed right now.

"Ah ... ah ... ah," I bawl out from the invariable, frequent enjoyment that Stian is thrusting and ramming into me. There is no pain, no any minor form of any soreness whatsoever. All about me are emotions and sentiments of too much syrupiness and sweetness. While he pulls in and out of me his pleasantly extensive, full-size his penis, I plunge down to the untainted ashen sheets underneath us and ascend up concurrently and over and over again, clinging and clutching on resolutely to his moderately bulky behinds. I am enjoying this repetitive sequence and phase of ours so very much. Until the globe around me dims and darkens all of a sudden and unexpectedly. I faint. Without ever grasping on to it; and in the very midst and core of our ardent get-your-leg-over making.

When I awaken and stir up to my logic and first-class worth judgment, I am all so giddy and woozy experiencing. Damn! This surely feels like a burgundy searing burst-into-flames hell and torment. I can't accept it as being moderately proper and exact that I paled or fainted out in the very midst and heart of my uptight and frenetic rumpy-pumpy screw-making with Stian. How was that ought to take place? Was it typical and ordinary even? I have no any slim hint at all. None which-so-ever. As I whip and budge about on the stocky-sized divan, our formerly shady and gloomy room is this great deal and greatly lighted up and illumined; I stir about the more only to I ascertain and discern a small, petite washbasin half-loaded with water as well as a chalice of ice and hoarfrost and a beaker of pills and tablets on the very unchanged diminutive table just next to the massive, classy-looking bed that I am now lying down on. Huh! Was I being put under the knife and carried surgical treatment on in this once-upon-a-time dim and ominous-like room? By Stian himself the medic and surgeon himself?

I glance about and notice him seated down not far away from me, hushed and pessimistic looking on the very alike and similar bed that I am stock-still and frozen on. He is not entirely naked nevertheless. He is dressed in that self-same emerald, bottle green similar-to towel that he came into our bedroom having on from the bathroom, wiping up and swabbing a soaked him literally dry what's more. In spite of his melancholy and great worry, he is extremely and exceptionally handsome as ever before. My God! I desire to feel and touch him right now. Absolutely. I cannot keep check myself ... or my untamed and feral passions either.

"Stian," I word kindly and delicately, shifting my hand about to stroke and finger him. He reaches for my hand in a fleeting while and grasps it so fine and fighting fit. Oh yes. In spite of my breeding and deteriorating twinge and anguish at the same time, I can feel contentment and delight overhauling me and my sentiments themselves. "Stian, what went on here?" I ask tenderly and feebly.

He exhales out noisily and then shrugs to himself. "You lost your consciousness, Ragnhild; and I had to ring up the doctor."

"Actually?"

"He went away a couple minutes ago; and he wound up that you are in good health and that nothing grave is this off-beam and in-the-wrong with you. Did you wolf something before we arrived here to hump and get it on with each other?"

"I didn't," I answer truthfully and sincerely.

He gets irritated and annoyed consecutively and promptly. "Which might make it clear why you fainted and experienced a black-out all of a sudden and unexpectedly. In any case, you must speedily eat something up before we get off to take forty winks, will you?"

"I won't take any nap until we conclude what we have already begun, Stian."

"But you are still frail and fragile, Ragnhild."

"I will be sturdy and all right if I gobble something. Please." I look at him in that beseeching and entreating manner till his eyes and expression itself softens and alleviates at long last. Then he concurs to my suggestion little by little and surely.

"Okay. Chomp and we shall carry on with our bang-bang business there and then."

I do not waver and falter about to eat what he fetches and carries me in my cradle—or bed. Grapes, strong and in-good-physical-shape carroty-like orange-shaded juice, vegetable planted and fixed in two pieces of pies, and flimflam-like scones. Oh ... I love it. Once I am through eating, we go on with where we had put down the coitus and fucking scene and prospect. My, my! My vagina wriggles and waggles straight away in absolute kick and enthusiasm as the markedly gorgeous man before my vigilant and on-the-alert eyes strips entirely nude and naked. I like the way that his profound and very eye-catching chest is patterned and styled tastefully. I am in addition to that mad about the way that his impressively and mightily fabricated arms are styled and molded ... the manner his bounty chest hair is spread and unfurled. No, he does not have any pubic locks and curls of hair close to his sexual organ and womb pecker. That underneath, striking branch is satisfactorily and sufficiently sheared and done up. I give my word about it.

Ah ... the feel of his large and elongated dong—or pecker—breaking through and piercing into my vulva and on tenterhooks unoccupied trench—it blusters and blows me out of my intellect and sagacity speedily and without postponement. ARGHHHH! There is just a certain grand lovability and charm to the clash and rap of his John Thomas against my thrilled punani. He hits and knocks his Extensive, Gigantic John against the barricades and walls of my breathing and living twat, giving immense pleasure to me and making my day so great and wholly out of this world by so doing. As he lets go his seed and spermatic fluid—or jism—into me, I feel the fortifications and bulwarks of my cunt broaden and enlarge so that my womb mechanically and routinely collects more and more of his incessantly pouring and heavily drizzling semen—all let loose hastily and frantically mad into me—and as that takes place, I can imagine and visualize up my vagina's interior flushing and swilling out an unfathomable crimson and the sugared and over-sweetened gumming-like honey held in his intense and unbroken discharge replenishing and furnishing me with too sweet and maudlin enjoyment and bliss. I yelp out at the top of my voice, "Ah ... you ... are ... killing ... me ... Stian..."

My words at ultimate last jumble up and tail off and become this confused and mish-mashed like; my thoughts and judgment is to a great extent disturbed and blown apart as if from a potent shell blast; I don't ever imagine or assume moreover that I will be able to gulp and draw in another sweet-smelling, fragrant-like breath after all this too-sweet-to-be-true trances and wide-awake hallucinations of mine. I am dying. Fast and assuredly.

As Stian attains or reaches his hands behind me to cuddle and stroke my bottom or gluteus maximus, he slices and stabs his oversize, filled penis deep into me, filling my vagina up with his male gamete and spermatozoa, making me bawl and howl in too much bliss and enjoyment. I have never been this filled up and made strongly happy. Much less pleased and gratified with sex and covetousness and love and obsession. My goodness! Am I not going to breathe my last and perish from intense enjoyment and contentment? It is all sweet –fantastically and intensely and fiercely lovable. A—r—g—hhhhh! I love it!

With his hands fastened and secured on my butts, he shoves his huge knob in and then quickly hauls it out of me, smacking and whacking my buns behind me down there lightly and pleasurably. The approach and style that his organ or pecker rips open and breaks apart the inside of me—it exhausts and strips me of my thinking and vigor and oomph. I am so mislaid and gone astray in thought right now. Vanished in the middle of I don't know where exactly. Stian is not coarse and forceful and voilent me; He is this startlingly and incredibly tender and mild and caring and gentle-like. My God! When is all of this enjoyment and bliss of mine going to conclude? When specifically? When?

I haul up my leg up for him to go in into me faultlessly well and he at once mounts himself toward me, inhaling and heaving a sigh out a great lot deal as he does so. His lungfuls of air bluster and squalls across my skin. Yeah. It is strongly breezy and nippy too—just the idyllic thing that I need right this specific minute to scrap and brawl against the grave sweat and exceptionally high temperature that is going and out through my body. Moments back, I felt that the air was exceedingly hot and scorching about me, that it would cook and stew my flesh up, until Stian Elbert heaved out, much to my liberation and relief. Yeah. Sex ... is incredibly good quality and excellent too. I am relishing in it.

Steadily and warily, Stian takes out his massive, valuable and dear Willie out of me. I feel the delight and enjoyment spinning and whirling inside my vagina recede and slither away as he does that. Damnit! He looks at me gradually and suspiciously, his eyes easier-said-than-done and tricky to grasp on to, until he ultimately makes that query to me, "Must I carry on with this pleasing, lovely trance of ours?"

Of course! I want him to. Right now, I can perform just about anything in the world to have him locate and ram that giant phallus of his into me. Yes. Even if it means putting up for sale on the devil's market my very own precious soul for zilch and zero gain, I would willingly and happily do it. Not that I could literally and readily do it without much thinking and consideration devoted in the slight matter. My thoughts and judgment were at this articulate minute wholly confound and confused up. I wanted sex so, so much and so, so bad like nobody's commerce.

"Yes, Stian, we must keep on on with this. I am intensely and as a matter of fact enjoying it," I toned out to him lowly and smoothly.

"Really?" He asked calmly and serenely, heaving his eyebrow craftily and deviously sly at me.

I did not respond. Instead, I take hold of him and quietly towed him toward me, kindly stroking and caressing his soft backside behind and grunting out raucously the moment I felt his stretched, giant tadger or Willie brush and sweep over my thighs. He slotted and popped it inside my vulva there and then; and farther up I soared my way, speedily and rapidly fast—up to the uppermost and elevated-most heavens that I could not see with bare and natural human eyes. Goodness. Sex is great, don't you believe so?

Slap! Spank! Smack! Stian cuffs and smacks his stunning-looking thighs against mine, rumbling and making out a malleable, grunting-like sound as he does so. He fixes his tender and compassionate eyes on mine, showing me just how much love and liking he reserves for me down there in the very depths and stealthy chambers and cavities of his heart. Yes. This is the most beautiful thing ever. Having copulation and rumpy-pumpy with him. I will never regret it in the imminent future. Not at all.

Each time that he pours and releases torrents and trains of sugary-like semen into me, I feel that he is not doing his very best and finest when in fact he is. And thus I reach on for his squashy-like rear-sides and drag and haul them against me along with himself more prominently. He clenches and grinds his teeth instantaneously, ramming and slamming into faster and more faster and harder. Yeah. This is it ... this is how it is supposed to be done. Exactly just like this. Arghhh!

"Stian, my love," I sob out at full volume.

"Yes, honey," he s straight away.

"Stian, you are killing me, my love."

"No, I am not, Ragnhild. I am having sexual intercourse with you; and I am liking it so very much. Close your eyes now, baby, will you? I want us to both look at each other with our mind's eyes alone and nothing else."

I do that only after seeing him shutting his eyes first—smoothly and bit by bit. It is the most beautiful and pleasing thing. I wish and in fact do pray that nothing will come to blow apart and break up our gorgeous moments. Each mild rap of his, each rushed stroke that he makes, each steadied blow that he efforts—I can feel it to the last hilt and inch with my body and moreover revel and enjoy it to the concluding completeness and tastiness and breadth and span. My goodness. This is so breathtaking and splendid indeed. It without doubt is.

The tea is sweet and yummy tasting. Yes. As lip-smacking as the great sex that I was having with Stian some hours past. Since it is seriously and if truth be told hot and searing, I sip it bit by bit and with awareness. Yes. I don't want to burn up and set ablaze my dearest lips. I don't want to do that. It would be plain dire and awful. For the mean time, I am by myself in the bulky living room. Dressed in a lime dress that ends somewhere underneath my knees. Stian is off for work—at Rovich Main Hospital, here in Rovich, Iceberg, where we are both based. Ours, Iceberg, is a country farthest off north of Europe. It is an islet to be precise. A vast and mammoth isle that is twice the dimension of England. We are footed in the middle of the Arctic Ocean and out of 365 days in a particular year, we have only 90 days with which to enjoy summer and the sun when it flickers and flares in its richness and great vigor. Primarily the phase from February to April. The remainder of the year is this insufferably cold and frozen and nippy. All ice and snowy and blustery and breezy.

What may be the principal and largest leading race on this isle of ours, you may speculate? There are natives of all nationalities here. Inhabitants from Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Russia, England, France, Iceland, Canada ... those of Norwegian ethnic group and descent are the most governing and principal nonetheless, followed by those of French and Russian and Swedish and English origins.

In Iceberg, Norwegian and Russian and French and English are the official languages. Most citizens are familiar and even grasp on to all of them. Including I myself; Ragnhild Ascwin.

I don't bear in mind who I am exactly. But I can commit to memory tads and bits and pieces about my life and my olden-times. However, I don't know whether these reminiscences of mine are genuine or not. I trust that they are not invented accounts and illusions. I trust so. I was eighteen years old back then when I met Stain and first fell in love with him. Yes. I was purely and ingenuously eighteen years old when I happened on him.

"Tonight ... I am going to fuck and rump and screw you up in my underwear," as Stian voices out the syrupy, succulent-like words to me, I am iced up still and winded; him grasping me in my beneath knee lawn-shade-like dress, I myself trembling and shuddering powerlessly and vulnerably in his unyielding grip. The initiative of him having sex with me in his underwear intrigues and enthralls and mesmerizes me completely. So, so, so, so much indeed. I marvel what style and shape of underwear he is putting on. Much less its tint and brand name. Is it as gray as his working trouser suit? With some waxeness on it—that complete whiteness of his stretched coat?

"What about I myself?" I raise to him steadily and unperturbedly. "Will I be authorized and conserted to put on my own sort of fancied underwear or what?"

"You can have on anything that you feel like. If you feel like it doing it, be fully undressed and naked."

At a snail's pace but with conviction, Stian stirs his strikingly handsome face close to mine; his eyes reviewing and studying mine; his tattered, patchy-like breath wafting and zephyring on my skin. I love it! So, so, so, so much indeed. I know what else he is going to do to me. Kiss and snog and canoodle me suddenly but stalwartly and stoutly; and I cannot cool my heels for it to happen right away.

His lips graze and scrape over mine, his tongue butting into its way into my mouth progressively so as to thump and batter with mine as well. Yes. I am in the coming life never-ending planet right now. The Elysium or Elysian fields even. While Stian smooches and snogs me, he slithers his right hand straight into my roseate-colored panties and strokes and brushes and fingers my yoni. My God! This is so tasty and delectable. I love it. So, so, so, so very much indeed.

Stian is so close to me right now that I can feel his John Thomas go erect and rigid in his snug, comfy underwear. He is clothed in nothing but a basic pitch-black shirt and dazzling pitchy underwear that flaunts and uncovers his massive and hulking and well-built and lip-smacking seeming thighs. I myself on the other hand am in my lonesome salmon underwear and nothing else. Yes. My breasts and remainder self is this stark bare and uncovered even though it is appallingly and awfully cold and freezing. And I love it!! Yo-hoo!

Pulling out away from me for a little while, Stian Elbert snatches a jagged and prickly razor blade from the close-by table in our hefty-sized living room right next to a mammoth sleeper chaise longue with bedspreads and coverlets on it—where we are going to fall asleep only after having sex—and he uses it to slash and hack through my panties on the site where my punani or vulva hole is footed. He is so cautious and scrupulous in his feat that he does not slash or incise my vagina itself. And after completing this, with my legs wrenched apart, he prods and bashes his finger humorously and fleetingly into my vagina hole. Ahhh ... I whine silently and wordlessly in sweet enjoyment and stare up at the spacious gold-like ceiling above, shutting my eyes for a transient while to be entertained and find satisfaction the concise pussy fingering. This is so sweet. Satisfyingly sweet indeed. Arghhh!

Now is my turn. As he shoves and presses on himself toward me so that the already massive and hardened cock veiled in his underwear swells and lumps out, his full-of-flavor and scrumptious thighs looking more sweetened and appetizing to touch and feel against my skin, I seize the remarkably spiky and blunted medical razor blade that he is taking hold of in his hand and then use it to slice through his abyssal, cavernous black underwear until I have unveiled and laid out to apparent view his huge, unbendable, and hoisted-up wang joystick. Goodness! It is so giant and so appetizing. I want it to bash and slap in my womb—right this instant.

Harshly and circumspectly, Stian bows and bends me down over the chaise longue, towing my legs wide apart while hauling me up so that he slots in and pops in his monster chopper and sweet schlong into me properly and satisfactorily. My! I love the ambiance and sensations its head—or crown— stirs as it trinkets and toys with the lips—or thick opening—of my cunt. Uhmmnnn! Lovalicious...

For a few minutes or five, the cranium of Stian's vertical penis fools around and dallies about with the aperture and gateway and rift of my vulva. I love the sentiments and sugariness that rouse and stir along with such sort of movements. It is all dreamy and heavenly like. And I have my eyes sealed all the lengthy while that he does that to me. I do not want him to bring it to an ending. Not ever!

The moment he compresses through his congealed-up dick into the inner depths of my cunt, I at once tear and split my eyes open. He then thrusts himself towards me and away from me at the same, prodding and ramming his hulking great and eye-catching thighs against me so hard and nice that I cannot help it but screech and squeal out in concentrated and deep bliss and contentment. Sex is so pleasurable and filling up.

My in-part dry as a bone vagina goes drenched and sodden from the load and freight of chalky-like cum that he hurls and loads up inside of me. It feels like sugary nectar sticking and gumming in the walls of my womb, furnishing and replenishing it well and agreeably to some great degree. Whenever he pulls out his penis slightly out of me, part of his jissom and come slips out along with it to run and surge down my heaved-up thighs that Stian himself is clutching resolutely and bearing up.

Plus Scene****

Oh. Stian massages and strokes the nut or noddle of his gigantic, full-size penis on the brilliant crimson lips of my vagina. It is a pleasant and breathtaking feeling and exploit indeed. So enjoyable and superb that I do not want anything to splinter and raze away our saccharine, errant reverie. The way he does it ... unhurriedly and quietly and satisfactorily and with awareness ... it sets my whole flesh afire and ablaze ... predominantly that spot and where-about where my vivid cherry-colored pussy is set and positioned. Ashhh. This is so blissful and fantastic indeed. I luv it!

Leisurely and lightly, Stian places his giant cock in and out of my vagina. He repeats the same thing again and again until I am so submerged and engrossed and absorbed in this bottomless cavity of greatest orgasm that I do not even know how to return my way back to realism. It is the most beautiful and remarkable thing ever. If the concentrated pleasure is not suffice to slay and wipe me out from being, then I frankly do not know what it is that is going to do specifically just that. In and out; in and out; he slides his penis into my fissure smoothly and charily and then rapidly and suddenly pulls it out it while gazing down at me where I am laying down stationary and stock-still on the enormous chaise longue beneath.

Smack! Spank! Slap! His buttocks start to wiggle and waggle and jiggle and juggle and hop and sway madly and uncontrollably behind as he slams in and out of me concurrently and in just the ideal chorus, prompting me to weep and orgasm and bleat directly and without delay. My, my! I am dying with too much enjoyment and contentment. Positively. Damn-it in any case!

"Arghhh!" I cry out.

Stian only clenches his teeth, whipping a glance down at me every once in a while. My goodness! He is so terrifically beautiful and handsome at the same time. Which is one basis why I am taking pleasure in all this to the very last hilt and plummet. He crooks himself down closer to me, gasping in and out faster and more faster, his thrusts and pulling-outs themselves become more quicker and quicker—and I cannot reason but to moan and howl and bawl out all the more. Stian, you are without doubt killing me. Gradually but surely. Is this how brilliant and exceptional a man is supposed and expected to fuck his wife?

Shit! The world about me darkens and grows dim in the darting and flitting of a split second. I think I am dying. Sinking in an ocean and marine of painless bliss and gratification to never wake up again and taste the savor and flavor of reality for another time. And how so accurate is this? As factual and spot-on as the fact that you are gulping in mouthfuls of air and translating this in your mind right this very instant. Yes; it is all undeniably and indisputably so true indeed.